


Charcoal and Rose Petals

by shittybundaskenyer



Series: Two Fereldans Let Loose in Val Royeaux [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Delia wants to draw the booty™, F/M, Fluff, Honeymoon, Naked Cuddling, Post-Blight, Sleepy Cuddles, but they end up snuggling, oh and they're still on their honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 12:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18031745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittybundaskenyer/pseuds/shittybundaskenyer
Summary: Delia wants to remember this morning for the rest of her life so she tries to draw her naked husband while he sleeps.





	Charcoal and Rose Petals

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel for Things You Said at 1 AM because I wanted to write more about these two on their honeymoon. I think there'll be more parts in the future, too.

He lies on his stomach, tightly holding onto his pillow under his head, his toned back and arse completely bare, the blanket only draped over his ankles. The sun shines through between the hastily closed curtains when a warm breeze lifts them up, painting golden shapes across his thigh and torso and making his tousled hair turn gold as well. She has to bite down on her lower lip to stifle a moan just by looking at him. 

She sits on a chair in front of the bed, facing his sleeping form, her eyes roaming hungrily over his freckled skin, like she could caress every part of his body with her gaze. With a small piece of charcoal in her hand, she’s sketching wildly, smudging and redrawing Alistair’s handsome features into her journal, her eyes lingering longer on him than the paper, though.

She’s gloriously naked too, she didn’t bother to dress up earlier when she got out of bed. 

It’s difficult, drawing him, and she never thought about herself as an artist, but she wants to remember these days for the rest of her life, so she tries anyways. She taps the charcoal to the paper at least a hundred times to show his freckles on the drawing too, and she smiles at how many of them he has, even more now, since they arrived in Orlais. 

_ How can someone be this beautiful? _

She gets a bit distracted at the faint moles on the small of his back and the curve of his spine and the charcoal slips on the paper, breaking in half, and the piece falls to the floor with a small  _ thud _ . It’s enough to startle Alistair and his body shudders, a soft sigh escaping his lips. 

“Delia?” he opens his eyes slowly, already searching for her on the bed next to him, but he only finds the cold sheets there.

He starts to turn onto his back but she stops him just in time. “ _ Don’t _ move!”

“Why? What’s wrong?” his voice is still raspy from sleep, but she can hear his concern. 

“Nothing,” she smiles a little, reassuring, and continues her drawing with the charcoal’s remaining half. “You look  _ perfect _ like this.”

“Wh—what are you doing?” 

She’s ripping apart his body piece by piece with her gaze, but she doesn’t dare to admit it out loud. She just smirks and slides a finger over the outlines of her drawing and the rose petals on the opposite page. She pressed them into her journal when Alistair brought her into a wonderful Orlesian garden last week and gave her another perfect red rose like he did when they were still fighting in the Blight. His words still echo in her mind since—no one ever said something this beautiful to her before. 

“I’m drawing,” she answers finally and he lets out an amused chuckle, then shifts and turns, one of his eyebrows shooting up as he sleepily looks at her naked form. 

“My backside, if I’m not mistaken,” his grin is self confident and wide when she lets out a sigh. 

“Now you ruined it,” she huffs and shuts the journal carefully, placing it and the charcoal on the commode at her back. 

“You doesn’t even show it to me? I’m hurt,” he reaches behind him with a hand and stuffs the pillows behind his back, then lies back and places his arms under his head. His eyes look her up and down and he licks his lips, eyes hungry and shining.

“ _ Hm _ , maybe I should do another. Your soft belly is so cute from this angle,” she smirks and he huffs, defeated, and closes his eyes once more. 

“Must've been the cake.”

“Yes, and not all kinds of Orlesian cheese, not at all,” she leans back in the chair, shifting her thigh a bit. 

Alistair just smiles, inhaling slowly and enjoys the warm sunlight dancing across his skin. “Come back here.”

She shakes her head slowly, even if she knows he doesn’t see her. “I want to enjoy the view a little more.”

“ _ Please _ ,” he yawns and looks up at her again, making that sad puppy face she’s sure he has learnt from her Mabari. 

She sighs, but she’s already standing up and striding towards the bed, and the smile grows larger and larger on his face as he watches her, a slight blush spreading on his face and down his neck. She flops down to the bed and crawls closer to him, resting her head next to his on the sky blue satin pillows. He turns towards her and nuzzles her nose, then kisses her softly, his hands wandering over the curve of her spine and the lines of her shoulder-blades. “Good morning, _wifey_ ,” he gives her one last peck on the lips, then he lies back, his amber gaze so full with love, staring right into her soul, and she has to take a deep breath to slow down her wildly beating heart. 

They lie together like this for a long time while the sun rises higher and the street under their windows wakes up as well, merchants taking out their goods and the shops opening on the opposite side, the tavern down the street already filled with one of the cheery songs of the bard and the drunk patrons singing with her. 

She lies with her eyes still open, watching his husband slightly drowsing—how his lashes cast warm shadows on his freckled cheeks, how his lips part now and then, how his chest heaves, how utterly calm he seems. She’s thinking about that night again, on the balcony, when he told her to enjoy happiness till she can. This is one of those blissfully perfect moments too, when she feels so happy, she almost bursts. She's never felt this contented in a very long time, but since they arrived in Val Royeaux, it’s  _ wonderful  _ ( despite the Orlesians).

Her hands slide down his torso, caressing his scarred skin here and there, but she’s too tempted when her fingers reach his not-so-flat stomach. She pinches his tummy and starts laughing when he squeaks and grabs her wrist, startled and still half asleep.

“Delia,  _ please _ , stop this,” he sighs and leans his head onto her shoulder, then plants a kiss onto the crook of her neck. “I’m tireeed.”

“Maybe you should do some  _ physical activity _ to get back in shape,” she smirks while sizing up his stomach, and her hand slowly slides down to his thighs, but Alistair grabs her wandering hand and lifts it to his face to plant a small kiss on her knuckles. 

“I um—I don’t feel that Grey Warden stamina this morning,” he mumbles onto the skin of her neck, his voice still a bit sleepy. “Could we just stay like this for a little more?”

Alistair snuggles closer to her and buries his face in her hair and neck, his stubble scratching her skin. Maybe yesterday’s long tour through the city, the evening spent sipping expensive wine at the tavern down the street and that three rounds of glorious lovemaking is taking its toll on him, she thinks, and another smile forms in the corner of her mouth. “We’ll stay as long as you want.”

“I love you,” he whispers into her ear and plants a kiss on her cheek for her generosity. 

“Are you saying this just because I let you drool on my boobs?” she chuckles and his hearty laughter follows soon after as he pulls her on top of him and hugs her closer until every part of their bodies are pressed flush together. Delia feels the rumble of his laughter under her own skin, the steady beating of his heart and every breath he takes. It’s wonderful, this feeling, being in the arms of the man she loves, being intimate with him like this, and she feels a bit surprised still, after all those years, that it doesn’t have to be about sex all the time. He loves her the same way with light caresses, tight cuddles and soft kisses like he does when he’s buried inside her and panting in her neck while she screams his name at the top of her lungs. 

_ Maker, how did I get this lucky? _

“Alistair, my arse is freezing,” she mumbles into his chest, but doesn’t dare moving. 

“Don’t worry I’ve got you,” she feels his smirk on the top of her head as he slides his hands down from her waist to her buttocks, lightly squeezing. She smiles again, for maybe the hundredth time this morning, and she finally lets the happiness take over every bad thought in her mind. 

She starts to think about Orlais a lot more differently since they arrived. Maybe she should’ve listened to him, back in the Blight when he said that they should go to Orlais, eat cake and live in sin. She didn’t think it was a promise back then, but she’s happy now that it was.  Alistair always surprises her in the best ways possible, just like now, when he grabs her more firmly, presses her into the mattress and kisses her until she’s all flushed and breathless. A small smile plays in the corner of his mouth. “We should go get breakfast.”

“Yes, we  _ should. _ ”


End file.
